A Little Song
by Spooky Spice
Summary: “I'd like you to sing a song for me.” “Danny?” “A little song...”


Title: A Little Song  
  
Author: Spooky Spice  
  
Date: started: 0403.02 /finished: 0403.05  
  
Rating: G  
  
Category: A story so fluffy you could stuff a couch w/ it. And possibly some throw pillows.  
  
Spoilers: "Enemies" (not really a post ep)  
  
Disclaimer: No, I don't own The West Wing or the characters or circumstances therein. I'm just a poor DC native (well, VA, really. It's 20 mins outside of DC!) messing around.  
  
Summery: "I'd like you to sing a song for me." "Danny?" "A little song..."  
  
Feedback: Send all pots of gold to: spookyspice24@yahoo.com  
  
Archive: Come! Visit my site! Have a rousing good time!   
  
Author's Notes: Hey, look! It's my 1st West Wing fic!!! HUZZAH!!! I have a West Wing muse! [dances] This is just a little St. Patrick's Day fic that entered my head when I was thinking about that quote that's in the summery and St. Patrick's Day. Also, this story is not a post-ep...actually I really don't know where it falls in the show. It's just there. Put it where you wish.  
  
And many many many thanks to my beta Athena! She helped me thru the tough parts. (Like the wording and the fact my spelling's getting worse as I get older, heehee.) You rock my world!!!  
  
Oh, and there's a little nod to Harry Potter in here. See if you can find it. ;) And if you can't, when you send me feedback (hint hint) I'll tell you.  
  
// indicates thoughts.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
March 16th  
  
"Carol? Give this to Danny."  
  
"A CD?"  
  
"Yeah. Tell him to wait until he's home to listen to it."  
  
Carol grinned. "Why? What's on it?"  
  
"The President's birthday list. I'm giving him a heads up." CJ's face was unreadable. "Just give it to him, please?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Danny."  
  
"Hey, Carol."  
  
She handed him the disk. "This is from CJ. She said not to listen to it until you got home."  
  
He looked at it with curiosity. "Any idea what's on it?"  
  
Carol shook her head. "Not a clue. Maybe it has something to do with tomorrow."  
  
"St. Patrick's Day?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Danny looked at the green CD for a moment. "So, I can't listen to it until I get home."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"A-kay."  
  
Carol turned and walked out. "Bye, Danny."  
  
"Later, Carol." He put the CD in his bag and out of mind so he wouldn't agonize over it all day.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Package delivered."  
  
"Thank you, Carol."  
  
Carol leaned against the doorframe, crossed her arms and looked at her boss. "Does this have anything to do with St. Patrick's Day?"  
  
"Carol, you don't think I'm getting enough grief from the President about this?" CJ said, exasperated.  
  
"Woe to those who don't wear green tomorrow."  
  
CJ put her face in her hands. "I was barely able to talk him out of making me wear that stupid hat at the briefings."  
  
"The one with the singing shamrock?"  
  
"It played 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling'."  
  
"Well, just be glad it didn't play 'Danny Boy'," Carol said mischievously.  
  
CJ gave her a look. "Go away."  
  
Carol bit her tongue to keep from laughing. "The President wants to see you before the 2 o'clock briefing. Something about leprechauns?"  
  
CJ's head hit her desk with a bang.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Danny got home around 1:30 am. Exhausted, he dumped his stuff on the couch before heading to the bedroom.  
  
But something stopped him. He went back to the couch, dug into his bag, and pulled out the CD. //Wait until you're home to listen to it.// Well, he was home. He looked at the clock. //And it's technically St. Patrick's Day....// Unable to wait, he went to the stereo and put the CD in. he was about to toss the case aside, when something caught his eye. Someone had written on the case under the CD.  
  
Once you asked me to sing a little song for you. Happy St. Patrick's Day—CJ.  
  
//Sing a song? Oh...// He thought back to that little "misunderstanding" involving the President, former VP and the note taker. He'd gotten a tip that the President had given Hoynes a smack down in front of the Cabinet, but refused to tell her his source. Eventually, she'd figured it out, and he'd convinced her not to fire Mildred. "Because it's not nice." She'd offered him a half hour exclusive with the President if he'd drop it.  
  
"Well, it sounds great, but it's not enough," he'd said, just to irk her.  
  
"What else?" she'd asked, incredulous.  
  
"I'd like you to sing a song for me," he teased.  
  
"Danny..."  
  
"A little song..."  
  
He'd taken the offer, but told her that he would reveal the truth if she did fire Mildred. How well they knew each other.  
  
Music started playing. It sounded vaguely Irish and something he'd heard before....  
  
"Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling  
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side  
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying  
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide."  
  
It was CJ's voice. CJ singing. CJ singing "Danny boy." For him. Wow.  
  
Her voice was a throaty alto—the alto he heard when she lowered her voice to tell him about a leak, the voice he heard right before she kissed him, the voice he heard in his dreams at night. The voice that never ceased to drive him crazy.  
  
It sounded as if she'd been singing for years. She was incredibly talented. Not that it mattered. She could be tone deaf with a tin ear and he'd still listen to every word that came out of her mouth.  
  
"But come ye back when summer's in the meadow  
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow  
And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow  
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so."  
  
There was nothing in this world that could wipe the grin off his face.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
March 17th—St. Patrick's Day  
  
CJ walked past the shamrocked cubicles and walls to her office, her mind running over a billion different things to do today. Number one being avoiding the President at all costs. If she heard the biography of St. Patrick or a history of Ireland one more time.... well, she could write a report on it and get an A. Or at least bore the Press Corps enough that they'd tune her out and she could slip some important information right past them.  
  
Oblivious to her surroundings, CJ walked into her office. She hung her coat on the rack, sidestepped a chair and rounded her desk. Eyes never leaving the paragraph, she set it down and dropped into her chair. She reached for a highlighter...and jumped 3 feet.  
  
"Top of the mornin', CJ."  
  
"Danny, what the hell are you doing here?!"  
  
"Come to wish ye a happy St. Patty's Day." His accent was pretty good, actually.  
  
"Is that what today is?" she asked dryly.  
  
"President giving his annual 'history of the Irish' lecture?"  
  
"Yes...and spread the word that if anyone pisses me off today, I'll tell him that ALL of you are interested in hearing it."  
  
Danny shuddered. "Consider it spread." He watched Gail swim around the ceramic leprechaun in her bowl.  
  
"Danny, was there something you wanted?" she asked after a moment of silence.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for the song." He smiled at her. "I never knew you could sing."  
  
CJ prayed her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "Um...yeah. I used to sing in the choir at my parish."  
  
"It shows. I wouldn't mind hearing you sing again."  
  
"The CD's yours, Danny." She looked at him. "I made it for you."  
  
That warmed him inside. She made it for him. "When did you make it?"  
  
"I have a friend back in Napa who owns a recording studio. He owed me a favor."  
  
Danny nodded. "Anyway, I would like to hear you again. Live and unplugged."  
  
"Really?"  
  
He leaned over. "You could do 'The Jackal'."  
  
CJ stood and bent towards him. "Okay."  
  
Danny's eyes lit up. It was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. "Yeah?"  
  
She kissed him quickly. "Yeah. Now get out of here."  
  
"Ah-kay." Their eyes held for a moment longer. Then he turned to go. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, CJ."  
  
"Happy St. Patrick's Day, Danny boy."  
  
The End 


End file.
